


In Fire and Blood

by SheMalfoy13



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Mental Illness, RP format, Self Harm, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheMalfoy13/pseuds/SheMalfoy13
Summary: Three years post-war, the Fire Lord finally summons the courage to visit his sister in her asylum. A role play between shemalfoy13 and canttaketheskyfromme.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a compilation of the RP thread of the same name on Tumblr, between shemalfoy13 as Princess Azula (nevcrperfect.tumblr.com), and canttaketheskyfromme as Fire Lord Zuko (thcbluespirit.tumblr.com).

The extensive warnings Iroh had given Zuko were poor preparation for being at the Institute himself.

Iroh had described it as quiet. What he had not told Zuko was the way in which the silence permeated the grounds and added to the air’s already unnatural chill, pressing in on Zuko’s ears until they rang. He scuffed his feet along the stone pathway just to make some noise.

Iroh had told him, over their cup of preparatory tea, that there were many inmates at the Institute. That was also true. But Iroh had failed to mention the hollow expressions and sense of unease, the way their soft uniforms seemed to be wearing them. Some of the inmates bore terrible scars across their bodies, or were missing limbs. With others, it was impossible to tell what had happened to them at all. Zuko suppressed a shudder as he met the eyes of a quaking man sitting along the sloping lawn, mouth diligently sealed against the spoonfuls of mush a nurse was offering.

In the distance, a scream sounded across the grounds. The Institute’s director, a squat and well-dressed man serving as Zuko’s escort, didn’t even flinch.

“Wounded in action,” he said by way of explanation, catching Zuko’s surprise. “Don’t worry. We keep veterans in their own ward, away from your sister.”

“My sister is a veteran, too.”

The man’s cheeks pinked; Zuko allowed him his uneasy silence.

His tour had been unsettling, to say the least. The Institute was sterile and proper with a strict set of rules; even the grass was manicured to an oppressive length. It was a professional Institute. It was well-funded. It still gave Zuko the creeps.

They were his citizens too, he reminded himself, watching a group of nurses preparing trays of food while the more mobile inmates gathered awkwardly, drawn to the activity.

They too needed their Fire Lord’s consideration.

Zuko scowled, allowing the director to hold the doorway for him, to walk him through the cafeteria and interior hallways without comment. It had been three years since Azula’s admission here; until now, Iroh had been the one to visit. The specialists had enforced a strict no-visit policy upon Zuko up until now, which he was ashamed to admit he had been grateful for. Zuko, too, had needed time to process, time to heal. But there was only so much of it he could do alone.

His Fire Lord regalia attracted looks as they walked down the twisting hallways.

Slowly, the decor vanished, the grateful sound from the cafeteria diminished once more. The walls were austere, peppered with doorways. This was for the Institute’s more severe cases, the director explained. Each of these rooms was rigidly standardized; the walls padded. Some of them were fireproofed, just in case. Zuko nodded away his horror.

They finally stopped, and the director mentioned for the guards at the hallway’s end to join them, turning to one of the insignificant doorways. Zuko swallowed.

“She may act unpredictably.” The director fished a ring of keys from the pocket of his robes. “She may be happy to see you, or she may respond violently. Towards herself, or you. All of this is behavior we have seen before. All of this is perfectly normal to expect for a first visit.”

Zuko refrained from commenting that it was perfectly normal when Azula wasn’t in the Institute, either. Instead, he merely nodded his understanding. A benefit of being the Fire Lord was that nobody expected an answer. He was allowed his impolite silence. And now, he certainly appreciated it.

The doorway was unbolted, and Zuko stepped within the room before he could think better of his decision, doing his best to ignore the way the padded flooring shifted beneath his feet.

“Azula?”

-

There were lists in Azula’s head, ones that had years in the making now, for when one is locked away in a pretty white room like this one, there’s only so much to do before you start losing your mind. So she made lists. Of stuff that bothered her; about this place, and the Fire Nation, about the world. Of things that hurt her, of people she hated, and people who hated her, of things she would’ve done different in her life.

The first thing in all of those lists, was her.

In many of those lists, her current residence came in third, of course. At another moment in her life, she would’ve said this was no place for a princess to be in, but in all honesty, it was no place for anyone to be in. And yet, it was needed. She knew that now. It had taken her a lot of time, of screams, and threats, and tears, of being reduced and tied, and sedated, for her to realise how fucked up she was.

She could remember each time she had been put on the straightjacket, and the faces of who had done it. Azula had sworn vengeance on each of those nurses, had cursed their families, spat on their faces, and had then fallen asleep between sobs, because they weren’t who she wanted to hurt.  _ She _ wanted to hurt. She deserved it, because of what she had done, because of the wounds she had left on people.

People who never came to see her.

Azula could also remember the first time her uncle had come to visit, and how the pity in the man’s eyes had gotten her chi-blocked, because she launched herself across the room to burn him. It had taken two nurses and a guard, but she was taken down finally, and the tea lover had left. Good. She did not deserve visits, or pity. She did not  _ deserve _ , period.

Sometime after, he had returned though, and Azula had slowly learned to enjoy his visits, much as she didn’t show the man. But he told her things about the palace, and her brother, and the nation. He always spoke in riddles, and vague words, probably not to give much away, but she understood enough. She was still unwanted, was still to stay in here, she was to attend therapy if she wanted out sometime.

She was unsure of that, so she kept refusing it.

There were many ways of being calmed down here, and Azula had learned to differentiate them the stubborn way, after several times of trial and error. Being chi-blocked, for example, was far worse than being restrained, she much rather put up a fight against the straightjacket, than lose mobility of her limbs any day of the year. Now, being sedated, that was the best option, but it was rarely used. Sedatives, meant visitors, and it would appear today she had one.

She was intrigued, because her uncle had come not two weeks ago, and he was fairly regular with his visits. Something stirred inside of her as the door opened, and she felt the familiar warmth of her blood coming in. Funny thing the drugs, she could tell her visitor was a bender, but she couldn’t call on her own fire, her body was sleepy, heavy. She turned to the door, slowly, and if there was any warmth left inside of her, that was the moment it left her.

And there it was, number two of her lists.

“No, NO! What are you doing here? How did you get here?” Azula’s eyes opened in panic, and she tried to push herself back to the wall, but it was very little what she could do with her body like this. She stared at the guards, in an attempt to make sense of the situation. “What is he doing here?!

“Get out!! Please,  _ please _ , get him out!” Her vision filled with tears, hands shaking violently, and her muscles ached, with the strain of needing her bending to react, why were they doing this to her? “You’re not supposed to be here, you’re not- GET OUT!

“I don’t want you here!! I don’t want you anymore! Look at what you’ve done,  _ Look at what you’ve done! _ ” Her chest felt tight, and she could barely breathe anymore, between the sobs wracking through her body, and the muted fire wanting to manifest. 

Azula’s vision darkened, and she pulled her knees up to her chest, this was it, he had finally found her, and now he was going to get rid of her. Because she failed. “Get out, please, please…”

-

He’d been worried, worried for weeks, at how he might feel if she hadn’t recognized him. After all, it had been years. Zuko had been told he’d changed in appearance, by his friends, who saw him too little to be fooled by time’s steady progression. But he supposed there was no question, now.

He’d never thought this would be worse.

Azula had changed herself. Her hair was long again, kept diligently away from her face, showing how much it had lengthened too, and hollowed. Her cheekbones cut harsh lines against the papery skin.

And then there was the way she scrambled into a corner, the undulating terror. He was the one, ultimately, who couldn’t recognize her.

But there was still something familiar here. Zuko had heard that fear before; his memory recalled a deadened, impoverished town in the Earth Kingdom, a malnourished boy whose brother had been dragged to the front lines to die.

_ Sensu _ , Zuko’s mind provided. Not that it mattered now what the man’s name had been.

He swallowed the taste of bile and granted his sister her wish, stepping from the room while the door was closed behind him. He was shaking, and sweating, his brow cold with the moisture.

“My Lord.” The squat director was at his side. “I think-”

“What’s wrong with her?” His voice was desperate, uncontrolled. “What’s wrong with my sister?”

“My Lord, there is still so little research on the workings of the mind-”

Something in his concatenated composure snapped; Zuko grabbed the front of the man’s pressed robes.

“What’s wrong with her?” He repeated, voice rising to a scream. “You- you told me she was better!”

“Th- this  _ is _ better!” The director’s hands were on Zuko’s. “My Lord, this- your sister has made significant progress in a most  _ impressive _ variety of-”

Zuko dropped him, shutting out the rest of the man’s answer. He was right, of course, he was right- leaving Zuko to once again be the angry one, the irrational one.

He let his back rest against the opposing wall and took three deep breaths.

The director’s hand came to rest on his arm. “My Lord. Perhaps a pot of tea to soothe the nerves? It’s hard on everyone, to visit loved ones here. You are by no means the only one to react as you have.”

Zuko flinched at the pity on his voice. “No,” he decided. “No. I have to talk to her, at least.”

He stepped back through the door, before he could second guess the decision.

She was still where he’d left her, watching him, wary. This time, Zuko lowered himself to his knees. 

“Azula,” he called to her again. “Azula. I’m sorry I haven’t visited you. Please don’t be upset. I won’t hurt you. You’re not in danger. Please, you have to understand- I would  _ never _ want to hurt you.”

-

She was still trying to calm her breathing down when he entered again, and maybe, if Azula’s mind wasn’t as broken, or if she hadn’t been so blindsighted by the colour, and the haunting memories, she would’ve noticed the differences. But being as it was, all she saw was red and gold. 

He knelt, and her shaking returned with full force, fresh tears clouding her eyes.

It just didn’t make sense. Why was he saying that? He never knelt, to anyone, and she had failed him. It had to be a trap, it was the only explanation. He wanted her to lower her guard, and then he’ll betray her, just like before.

“You always say that, but I don’t trust you anymore!” She screamed between sobs, pressing her legs tighter to her chest. He’ll kill her this time, she was sure of that. If he’d managed to escape, if he was here…

“You’re not even supposed to be here, how did you do it? How did you get away?” Raw panic settled in her chest, and she dug her fingernails to the padded floor of the room, for it had started to spin, and white spots filled her vision. She could feel the trail of cold sweat down her spine, it couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be.

“Where’s Zuko, what have you done to Zuko?” The question came out jagged, ripped from her tight throat, and she looked up at him, and for a moment, she could swear she saw her brother. 

But then everything was red and gold, and that crown that had caused her so much pain, and she just couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t fight back, even if she tried, and the guards were clearly not on her side, so the next logical thing was to give up.

Azula sat on her knees, and lowered her head in defeat, eyes focused on the darkened spots her tears were leaving on the white floor of her room. She guessed it was alright, to go like this, after all, she couldn’t go on without Zuko. That was probably the only good thing this place had done for her, help her realise how much she actually loved her brother, and how wrongly she had done by him.

“Go ahead then.” She whispered, nails digging on her thighs.

-

“ _ Azula _ .”

He may as well have mouthed her name, for how little sound escaped his throat, and for a moment there was sweet, soothing relief. She’d not thought it was him. She wasn’t afraid of him. At least not this afraid.

She’d thought he was their father.

At his sides, Zuko’s fingertips tightened, and warmed. No wonder she’d reacted so horribly. If she and Zuko shared similar demons, then she had cause for it. Ozai may have been incarcerated long ago, but the memory of him- that still remained. Sometimes, Zuko worried he’d never forget.

Sometimes, he awoke tearing at his hair and eyes as he tried.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Zuko repeated, softer this time, positive his voice shook in ways his monster of a father’s never had. He reached up to remove the pointed, golden crown from his hair, and then his knot.

There was an audible intake of breath from behind him. “My Lord.” The squat director sounded displeased. “This certainly isn’t necessary.”

“ _ Leave _ us.” Zuko spoke in a whisper, not even allowing the man a glance, gaze set, intent, upon Azula.

They backed from Azula’s room, and Zuko pulled the door shut behind him.

Finally, there was silence, privacy, and it was stifling. How long had Azula been in this room without company, Zuko wondered. Just how much more insane had this place driven her to become?

Slowly, as slowly as he could, as though he were trying not to startle a wild animal, he pocketed the crown and lifted the heavy pads from his shoulders. He’d been confident the scar alone was differentiation enough between himself and the monster who had given it to him. Perhaps it was not the case after all.

Zuko wasn’t sure how the thought made him feel.

His robe came next, the cumbersome tie slipping easily past his experienced fingers, and Zuko ditched it beside the plate, shrugging out of the heavy fabric.

He continued, sliding off the boots, and the decorative leather that covered his wrists. It was a methodical process, almost ritualistic, although Zuko refused to read pointless metaphor into it- that was for the Avatar, or another of his more poetic friends.

Zuko disrobed until he was in nothing more than a pair of plain, linen pants and tunic, and looked toward her again, letting his weight rest on the heels of his hands. It was unimposing. It was something of a prostration. It was no less than she deserved.

“Azula, I’m not-” the name caught in his throat. “- _ Him _ . I’m Zuko. I’m your brother. Azula, please, look at me.”

-

She didn’t raise her head, not when he called her, not when he promised no harm once more, and she could barely hold the flinch that threatened to show, when the door closed with him inside. Both of them alone.

After a moment of nothing happening though, her eyes traveled to find him, and even if she had been sound of mind, she could’ve not made sense of what he was doing. He was disrobing, the red and gold scattered around the room, and the dark hair falling over his shoulders, his face.

Azula was transfixed, her mind reeling from the shock, lips quivering once more, but this time with a mixture of joy, and regret. 

“ _ Zuko. _ ” She whispered, her throat was raw, and it hurt, and her chest hurt too. She had mistaken him.

There was a very distinctive fear to that, the realization that she had finally lost her mind, to see one man over the other. But there was a much worse fear pressing up on that one, one that made her tears burn hot trails down her cheeks, and crawl forward to her brother.  _ She had mistaken him. _

“You came, Zuko.” 

Azula pressed a hand to his scarred cheek, it pained her to have to check, but she was so lost inside her own head, and it had been so long since she’d last seen him. She put her free hand on the other side, lifting his head to meet his eyes again, so relieved to recognize him, to see herself in the golden mirror that she’d missed so much.

“You came.” Without even thinking about it, Azula hugged him, and his heat invaded her body, so foreign and yet so familiar. And it was too much; for her mind, for her body, for her heart, much as she would want to deny it.

“I’m so sorry, Zuko. I really am.” She buried herself in the crook of his neck, sobbing, apologising over and over again. For their childhood, for the war, for not being able to see him when he entered her room. 

-

Finally, it was genuine recognition Zuko saw on his sister’s face, the sudden dismissal of her hesitation as she crawled towards him, traversing the padded floor. But it wasn’t until her fingers found the scarred side of his face, unabashedly, unhesitatingly, that his own body responded in kind.

A sob tore itself from his throat, matching a shudder as her fingers acquainted themselves with his face- for the first time, at least for the first since they’d been children, not yet even the Prince and Princess, because Azula didn’t  _ touch _ him like this. They didn’t touch at all.

It was natural enough to hold her taut against him, Zuko found, natural enough to twine his fingers in her plait and drag her close and whisper to her as she cried, that it was  _ okay _ , Azula, it was  _ reasonable _ , it was an honest  _ mistake _ \- much as it might very well torment his nightmares later. But he knew from the few times they’d been close in their later years that she was far too cold.

She may have recognized him, but Zuko still couldn’t see his sister in her.

“Please don’t apologize,” he whispered, stroking the silk that was her hair, falling from its careful twist. “It’s my fault, it’s mine, I’m sorry I haven’t come to see you, Azula, I’m the one who should be asking for your forgiveness.”

He pulled away, just barely, touching at her fingers, encircling them with his, warming them.

“Do they treat you well here?” He asked, throat still tight with horror.

What had he allowed her to become?

-

There was a battle of wills happening, inside Azula’s head, one that was escalating pretty quickly, and she was afraid of the result, whichever that might be.

She stared at her brother’s fingers in hers, and delighted in the way his temperature made her feel, his skin warming hers up, and his words soothing the ache in her chest. She wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to apologise either, that she had done this to herself, and if anything, it was the fault of another Fire Lord, not him.

She wanted to answer that it was okay here, they treated her nicely; that she ate properly, and had regular outings to the patio. Therapy was alright, she thought she was making progress. She wanted to lie to him, so that he wouldn’t worry. 

But she also wanted to make him hurt, dig her nails into his skin and pull his hair, and hit him, for putting her here. Burn him, for it was all his fault. If she wasn’t so heavily drugged to prevent that, she would burn him, the robes, and herself. Set this whole building on fire.

Tell him that they treated her like she treated them, cold, indifferent, fearful. That she had seen pleasure in some guards, as they restrained her, that the showers were cold and demeaning, and that she had seen the green of the grass only when their uncle was visiting.

“They-” Azula could feel herself losing, and as panic rose again within her, she did what came natural to her, after years of practice. Protocol.

“It’s okay, brother. You really shouldn’t worry about me.” She answered, voice flat, controlling every word out of her lips, because he could appear happy to see her, but this could be nothing but a taunt too, right? Maybe he got bored in his palace and decided to torment her instead. She looked up at him again, would he do that?

“Is there anything I can do for you? Is that why you came?” Still, even as she sat on her knees, straightened her back, and squared her shoulders, she couldn’t take her hands from his, no matter how inappropriate. Zuko was warm, whereas she was nothing but frigid, and it finally dawned on her that it had always been like this, only she had fooled herself with her bending.

-

He almost wanted to laugh. Of course she’d try and hide the truth from him. Why he’d expected it to be any different with Azula, he wasn’t sure.

Zuko watched her revert to protocol. Now, perhaps, there was more of his sister in front of him. She once again looked the weapon, ready to commit her life to the Fire Lord’s commands. The thought repulsed him. What she was allowing herself to become repulsed him. He almost missed her uncharacteristic sobbing into his collar.

“You have no right to tell me who I can and cannot worry about.” He kept his voice lowered, indignant. It had been difficult enough to visit her today. It had been hard enough for years to suspect he cared about her far more than she did him. But the empathy- it was a curse Zuko had long since come to terms with.

He looked her in the eyes, squaring his own shoulders. How ironic, the dichotomy between this position and the one they’d just vacated. One where they might have been misconstrued as a real family.

“I came to check up on you.” Zuko narrowed his eyes, balling hands into fists once more by his side. “I want nothing more than for you to be honest with me.”

It was a good enough excuse, not even a lie, although it certainly wasn’t the complete truth, either. In reality, her presence had been haunting the palace since Zuko assumed the throne. In reality, the palace was so desperately lonely and the nightmares so poignant that he found himself needing her.

He’d reached out to his own support systems. He’d talked to Iroh, to Aang. Even to a therapist or two, sworn to the utmost secrecy. But he suspected Azula would be the only one to really understand.

“Tell me the truth, Azula.” The words hovered somewhere between command and plea. “Tell me the truth so I can work on bringing you home.”

-

Azula nodded, and kept her eyes downcast, of course she had no right to tell him anything. She probably had no right to be talking to him either, after that last lightning. She wondered if it still hurt.

His next words were bittersweet though, the fact that he wanted to check up on her, at the same time as he took the heat away. He was angry. She had angered him, and her hands attempted to find his once more, but she caught them mid-air, and placed them on her lap instead.

The prospect of going back to the palace -home he’d call it- made Azula’s heart stammer in the chest, and she clutched the flimsy fabric of her pants. Had she got her bending, she would’ve burned them from the hope, the anxiety. She wanted to go back. She wanted it so bad.

“It’s awful here Zuko.” She’d abide by his order, she’ll tell him everything, if that meant she’ll eventually get out. “I don’t like the jacket, but being chi-blocked is so much worse. The only flames I can ever call upon get me restrained, and I- it’s painful, my chest hurts, and my stomach.”

And talking about it hurt equally, or even more, than the actual feeling of her bending being crushed back into her core. She gasped for air, tearless sobs shaking her body.

“The drugs are not nice either, but at least I can move around with them, and I want to go out, I’d like to see the sky more, not just when Uncle comes.

“I’m sorry, I know I probably shouldn’t- I know I probably don’t get to ask anything from you.”

-

He squeezed his fists hard to keep them from lighting. To see her like this now, still so broken, still so reminiscent of the girl she’d been as he’d made the decision to send her to the Institute in the first place- Zuko had suspected as much.

But it didn’t make accepting the fact any easier.

_ Fuck _ . He ran his shaking, hurting fingers through his hair, scraping roughly at the scalp. Who was he, to allow this to happen to her?

For a moment, he considered letting the flames loose, burning the padded walls of her room, burning the Institute from the inside out and watching it turn to ash. How dare she be treated as though she were less than the other inmates? She was just as much a victim as they were.

Tears burned, hot, at the corners of his eyes, and he blinked violently to rid himself of them, breathing out, calming himself.

Then, Zuko stood, and pulled the door open.

The director and guards were still there, apprehension tangible in their silence, eyes lowering to assess his unconventional state.

“We’re going for a walk,” Zuko notified them, keeping his voice low.

“We’re going for a walk,  _ without _ guards.”

They didn’t seem to have the will to argue, and for that he was glad.

Zuko turned back to his sister, kneeling, extending a hand.

“Can you stand?”

-

She wished he had let his fire loose.

Azula watched as Zuko’s expression shifted from mild annoyance, to anger, to fury even, and she secretly hoped he would let go; that he would allow himself the release, for she missed his fire.

Her fire might have been hotter, precise, refined, but Zuko’s fire was life.

His fire was his feelings, right there at the tip of his fingers. It was messy, and fickle, and so red; like everything she hated, and loved, and all that she missed. She had hated it back then, the way he would mess up a movement, or how he couldn’t control the shape of his flame, even the fact that he shifted the temperature of the air around him when upset.

Now, she needed it. She needed him.

“Yes.” Azula managed out, a trembling hand reaching to take his, overwhelmed by the way he addressed the director, the fact that he was not a kid anymore. How much had changed since she saw him last.

The fact that he had controlled himself was a good example of it.

Out of habit, she laced her arm around his, and she realised this was the first time they did this, aside from the lessons when they were kids. Her steps faltered for a moment, and she dug nails to his arm, taking deep breaths to keep her legs from giving in.

“Zuko, I don’t know how to do this.”

-

For a moment he caught her eyes, horrified, before the digging of her nails into his flesh even registered. Her footsteps had been steady. She wasn’t talking about walking.

She was talking about being with him, touching him, walking alongside him as though it was something they’d ever done. No, beyond that, Azula was talking about being  _ human _ ; how much Zuko empathized.

He didn’t know how to be a person yet, either. He didn’t know how to walk alongside her and how to feel her touch without the inherent panic. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. Adrenaline turned his hands clammy. This was no easily afforded trust on his part, either.

How much he wanted to leave. The animalistic part of his brain screamed for it, for her to be locked up again, restricted. She’d done nothing but try and harm him in the past. She’d never treated him as deserving. She’d been a well-earned guest star to his nightmares.

_ Azula always lies _ . Zuko swallowed, roughly, around the climbing fear.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, the reassurance meant for them both. “ _ It’s okay _ .”

He touched her elbow, slid fingers down to her wrists. How delicate they were, her jutting bones and the movements of her fingers so practiced and intentional. He looped his arm through hers instead, holding her, warming her.

“I don’t either.”

He let his fingers toy with hers, learning them, warming them.

“We’ll have to learn together.”

-

He sounded as panicked as her, or more even, and that was oddly reassuring. Azula stared at their entwined fingers with fear. Despite his words, the hope behind them, -that didn’t seem to reach her just yet- she could not find it in herself to be relaxed just yet, and all she could do was nod, and poise herself up, be a good escort at least.

The hallways she knew, some of the voices behind the doors, too. The cafeteria she had never been in, and she could feel Zuko’s eyes on her as she took everything in. It made her stomach twist with shame.

She, who had been raised to believe the world was hers, that she was entitled to her every wish, and that people should kneel to her; locked away, denied of simple things like grass, and conversation, and of the only prized thing in her life, her fire.

“Zuko, will you visit me again?” Azula asked, as they reached the garden, keeping her eyes straight ahead, but fingers unwillingly tightening in his warm hand. She craved touch, and human heat, and it sickened her that she was putting her brother, who she had hurt so much, to be the one providing it to her.

-

He sent another confused grimace her way. This dependence was new too, wasn’t it? Certainly, Mai never gave indication that Azula had been anything close to a needier friend, and Zuko hesitated to even ask Ty Lee about it, with the way her doe eyes filled with panic at his sister’s name alone.

Although Zuko supposed he shouldn’t be comparing her with the girl he’d once known, not at all. He was hardly the same boy who had once battled her in that horrible Agni Kai. Royalty did strange things to someone, the cold walls of the palace and loneliness and responsibility had warped him into someone totally different. And even then, he was free. He wasn’t confined to a single padded room, and the drugs, and the chi blocking and restrictive jackets they used on her.

Even beneath the warm sun, Zuko shuddered, although the climate was admittedly much more temperate without the restrictive robes.

“I will,” Zuko reassured, and he put both hands over her own, guiding her onto the grass of the courtyard, doing his best not to notice the strange looks his disheveled appearance earned him from the nearby Institute workers. “I should have been all along.”

He let bitterness tint his tone. Fuck, he was still so weak, so  _ legible _ .

Zuko guided her to a bench overlooking one of the makeshift watering holes within the grounds. It must have been crafted by Earthbenders; a feature such a this was not common to the mountainous region in which Azula’s Institute resided.

No, not  _ Azula’s Institute _ . He shook his head, frustrated. The institute in which she was a patient.

“Do you know where we are?” He asked, eyeing the lush mountainous ridges beyond the Institute’s walls.

-

“ _ No _ .” And just like that she felt rage. Pure, unadulterated rage, that heated her very core, battling the chilling effect of the drugs.

“Should I?” She wrenched her hand from his, flinching at the loss of touch, but caring very little for her stupid needs. She shouldn’t need him like this, he clearly didn’t need her at all, showing up three years too late.

“Should I recognise something from this heinous place you tossed me into the very second you got your precious crown?!” The scream tore at her throat, and her hands fisted, hot tears filling her eyes; if she could, she’d do something she’d regret later on. She was sure of that. “You know perfectly well I was brought her  _ drugged! _ You were there, I remember you talking to uncle about it! Why did you do it!?  _ Why _ , Zuko!?”

“I woke up alone, inside that joke of a room!” She reached to slap him, but a hand gripped at her arm, and she was pulled to her feet. “No!” Azula fought against the guard. “Let me go!  _ Don’t fucking touch me! _ I’m your Princess, let go of me!”

She reached out to Zuko, needing to grab him, completely gone as to with what end. She needed him, and that hurt her, the emptiness she felt having let go of his hand, she hated it. And she hated him, and that was a dagger at her chest, because she needed him. Wanted to rip him open, and beg for him to hug her, until it all made sense again.

“Why did you put me in here? You don’t care,  _ you don’t fucking care _ about me!” From the corner of her eye, Azula could see two more guards running to them, the despicable jacket in the hands of one of them, and she made a final attempt at her brother.

She tossed her head back, and felt the blow hit the right spot; the guard cursed, and let go of one arm, to grab at his nose. Azula stretched beyond possible, her left arm hurting from the strain, and threaded fingers in Zuko’s hair, fisting it.

“I was  _ home _ , I had a father, friends, even a brother, and you took it all away from me.” Her voice was cold, measured, next to his ear. She knew this person, this version of her, it sickened her, and she fell onto his shoulder, a sob escaping her lips, until she was pulled back, and forced to her knees on the grass. 

“I was at the palace, I was home Zuko, and then I woke up here, and  _ you were not!  _ Not Mai, not Ty Lee, not even father, much as it hurts to say it.” Azula was done fighting, she knew it was fruitless, and she didn’t want another needle, so she let them put the jacket on, her eyes never leaving Zuko’s.

“ _ Why weren’t you here? _ ”

-

Now he recognized her. Now, Zuko saw the person his sister had been when they’d known one another. Wild and unstable, and more creature than human, a memory that followed him through the expansive palace hallways, made the back of his neck prickle and his gut churn with each foreign shadow across the floor. His monster of a father’s issues had been easier to justify. Ozai was evil, tyrannical. Azula was still an enigma.

He felt ill. He’d allowed himself to be so open. Her words were sharp as razors, tearing at his chest, reopening wounds that had barely knitted.

“You’re sick, Azula.” It was only after he’d raised an accusatory finger towards her that Zuko realized how much it was shaking. The guards, forcing the restrictive jacket around her, stilled. “You’re here because you’re sick. What was I supposed to do, toss you in prison? To the crowds?” His voice rose. “They were demanding your head, even my  _ advisors _ endorsed a public execution. I put  _ everything _ on the line to even afford you this courtesy!”

He expelled a trembling laugh, running agitated fingers through his hair. Of course it had come to this, a screaming match between royalty in the courtyard as though they were children again, and bickering over Zuko’s toy soldiers. Of course she’d attacked him. How had he ever imagined she’d be any different?

He remembered why he hated her now. It rose, putrid, in his chest. She’d made him feel just as worthless as had his father.

_ Azula always lies. _ He’d chanted the reminder through his childhood, his banishment, as though it had been a prayer. The one fact Zuko had known for certain, as the rest of his life shattered before him.  _ Azula always lies. _

“You had a brother?” He hissed. “You think you had a fucking brother? I’ll tell you something, you lost your brother the day you saw fit to mock him for his impending murder. You were no sister to me, Azula, you were a pawn, you let  _ him _ warp and abuse you, and yet you still have the gall to lament the loss of our family as though it’s a recent occurrence?”

He stepped closer to her, chest heaving “Because I’ll tell you something, Azula. The foundations on which our entire family was built were a lie. They were rotting. They were vile. We were raised on chaos and fear and the massacre of entire civilizations! You’re right. you lost whatever that was because of me. And I would gladly tear it apart thousands of times over if it meant saving the world again. Because some things are bigger than us. Almost everything is.”

He stepped back, examining her.

“I didn’t visit because I was broken. I didn’t visit because _ I was traumatized, too _ . But I’m here now, because I think although we weren’t family before, we still have the chance to become one.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Azula. Tell me there’s no hope for us. And I’ll leave you in peace.”

-

“ _ Zuko _ ” 

It was a plea, and it was all she could manage right now. Her whole body shook with fear. She feared him, and what he could do to her, and she feared herself, and what she could do to him still.

This was it. She had sealed her current fate with a lightning, and it had taken him three years to return. But now, all she could do, all she had to do, was to say something, and he’d be gone forever.

A sob tore through her throat, and she doubled over from the pain in her chest. She shouldn’t be allowed the option, she’d mess it up, she’d mess him up. How could she promise hope, when she hadn’t been able to control herself one hour? 

Zuko had spared her life by the sound of it, and then he’d even taken her out, he’d warmed her, and the only thing stopping her from digging nails to his flesh, had been a guard. It was so like them, that it almost makes her laugh, or maybe she was laughing amidst the tears and the trembling, who knew anymore.

“Don’t. Please don’t go away.” It was barely a whisper, and she wasn’t sure if he would hear. If it weren’t for the heat she could still feel, she would’ve thought he had left already, for how silent he’d become, after the horrid words he’d screamed at her. 

She would’ve left her.

-

“Leave us,” Zuko commanded, relief softening the words. Then, louder, when the guards didn’t move. “Leave us  _ now _ .”

They jumped back, and Zuko ignored them, even to cast an apologetic look in their direction. He’d need more than a sympathetic grimace to undo the disaster he’d caused that day, anyway. But he pushed away the concern, to meditate on at a different time.

He knelt in front of her, sliding fingers along the freshly done clasps on the restrictive jacket, threading the fabric gently through the metal loops and freeing her. Instinct told him to panic, to run, to leave her in the institute, forgotten. To rot, as she’d commanded happen to Mai, as his girlfriend had less than willingly relayed to him those years back. But there was hope enough in Azula’s five words to chance being attacked once again, to chance the ways she could still tear him apart.

There was still something inhuman in her, in the wild look of her yellow eyes and heaving chest, the way she’d thrashed in the arms of the guard. Zuko wondered if the monster was at all her, or entirely a result of their father’s lingering grip.

_ Their father _ . Zuko scowled, searching for another restraint. The loathsome memory of their father was reason enough to do this, to try anything he could with Azula, to prove that he couldn’t ruin them, as much as he’d tried.

Did Azula always lie, or was she merely a puppet all along?

Finally, the heavy white fabric fell to the grass. Zuko tugged at her arm, pulled her to the ground, crushing her against him with his arms.

“I’d have returned no matter what you told me,” he admitted. “I’m not giving up. But you have to try, too. You have to  _ promise _ me you’ll try to get better.”

-

She shook the whole time. From the flinch she couldn’t hold back when Zuko dismissed the guards onward, Azula could not control her body’s trembling.

She wasn’t sure if it was fear, stress, or the drugs finally wearing off over the excess adrenaline she’d been burning during this whole mess. All she knew was that she could not possibly believe what was happening right now. 

This had to be a dream, a sedative induced dream.

Azula was sure she had been injected when they put on the jacket, and was now asleep, dangerously trapped in a marvellous dream soon to become a horrible nightmare. Any moment now, Zuko would call the guards to take her away and have her killed, or worse, stripped from her bending.

And yet, she had to believe it true, because his fingers felt all to real on her arm, on her waist, and his voice was softer than it had ever been in her dreams, where he told her how much she’d disappointed the nation and the Fire Lord.

“I will, brother.” She promised, her voice hesitant, her body still uncontrollable. She burrowed further into him, she had no more tears to shed, but Azula was sure she was crying nonetheless. Had they ever held onto the other like this before? “I’ll listen to the doctors, I’ll go to therapy.”

Unsure of how long she’d stay like that, pressed onto her brother, feeling exhausted, drained, she tried to move, she should not abuse his calm, or her right state of mind. Neither would like to push the other, and they were both very fickle, especially right now. She could feel him burning still.

“I’ll go now, okay?” Azula whispered to his shoulder, afraid of letting go, but too tired to even listen to her irrationality. She should not need him.  _ And yet _ . 

The guards were quick to grab her arms once she stepped away from her brother, ever eager to prove they were good at restraining people. She had no will to fight them either. Her eyes sat on Zuko, noticing for the first time how he’d grown; his jaw had squared some, his shoulders broaden, and she liked his long hair, it suited him. It was hard to find the boy she had once been sent to hunt down in him. Still, his eyes were the ones she knew from before.

Azula reached out, a hand tightening threateningly on her arm before letting go, and she ran her fingers over Zuko’s scarred cheek, tucking hair behind the equally burned ear. “I know where I am, Zuko.”


	2. Chapter 2

In the year that had passed since Zuko had begun regular visits to his sister, he couldn’t remember feeling so optimistic as the carriage, drawn by the usual two surly ostrich horses, neared the walls of her institute. Even the trip seemed to usually have a vendetta against him; the building was three hours’ worth of travel into the mountainous region beside the Caldera city, and usually with little company other than the carriage man and sometimes a sleeping Iroh. But he found he’d grown used to the trope.

It was the way she looked at him that made the journeys worthwhile, the way fear was now almost always obscured by the familiarity of recognition. Only twice further, Azula had mistaken Zuko for their father. But he’d learned to approach cautiously, disrobing to the minimum before entering her cell- no, her chamber, he reminded himself, with a minimal shake to his head. In return, she learned to trust her memories.

It was slow going, the director had wheezed, as Zuko strode towards the exit at the month prior’s visit, struck by an idea. There was physical progress demonstrating control, and she’d actually deigned to speak in her therapy sessions. But-

There was always a contradiction, and Zuko had stopped listening. He didn’t need to hear the medical diagnosis to know how far Azula still had to go. The haunted look to her eyes had come to be a guest star in many of his current nightmares. And still, neither of them could say his name.

Even worse, she was always so frighteningly cold.

Upon disembarking, Zuko was led on a different path than usual through the institute’s many winding hallways. A raised brow towards the director earned him a grin in return.

“She’s been moved,” the man explained, with something of a self-assured swagger. Zuko resisted rolling his eyes. “Her risk of self-harm has lowered to an acceptable level, and the Princess can now be trusted- well.”

“In a room with hard edges?” Zuko kept the suggestion to a monotone.

The director merely nodded, stopping to bend over the nurse’s station, leaving Zuko to examine the area.

The ward was much friendlier than Azula’s last. Slippered inmates sat unsupervised at comfortable looking sofas and seats, examining a puzzle or the worn pieces of a Pai Sho board. Zuko considered insisting that Iroh challenge Azula to a match at his next visit, and then thought better of the idea. There was little more infuriating than being beaten at the game repeatedly. In that case, he wouldn’t blame Azula for trying to set the place on fire.

A pair of cool metal rings were pressed into Zuko’s hands, and he jumped.

“Would you like to do the honors?” The nurse at the station had a pretty grin.

“I would. Thank you.” Zuko pocketed the familiar cuffs.

Azula’s room was at the hallway’s end. Zuko waited for the latch to be undone before pressing in, and examined the clean walls and soft looking bed for an instant longer before approaching his sister.

“I like your new quarters, Princess.”

He stooped to brush lips against her forehead.

-

“Brother.” She greeted; for a moment she had considered calling him by his title too, but the words did not oblige, and had instead tugged at her chest uncomfortably. “It is nicer, yes.”

Azula hesitated, her hands worrying on the fabric of her shirt, before giving him a brief hug, and going to sit on the bed, inviting him to join her.

The room was- empty, for now. The director had told her she could have some things in the future, a painting, some books, a chair and a table. But not now, not until certain things happened. Azula understood why, of course. Almost everything in that list was flammable, and she had been reduced the drugs to suppress her bending, so it meant that if she tried hard enough, she could produce a flame.

She had not done it. It had been a while since she’d last been restrained, never in her new room, -in which she’d been for the past three weeks- and she intended to keep it that way.

It had not come alone, of course. Azula had had to open up, and actually talk about things she didn’t want to, with people she care very little for, in order to be moved here. And it was true that she felt a bit better, but she also had a list of things to do each day, and every one of them felt like torture. 

“It is nice to have a window.” Her eyes travelled to it as she said it. From there she could see some trees, and it reminded her of the palace’s gardens. She could not always stand the view, but the heat of the sun in the mornings was everything, and she woke up to it every day, and stood by the glass letting it warm her.

“I’ve been told I have to talk to you about something. To make _peace_ with it.” Azula turned back to her brother, a grimace on her lips. “About a time where I’ve hurt you. So, you know, anything from our past basically.” She tried a shrug. 

-

“It is.” His gaze had been cast out the window himself. He hadn’t thought, until then, how disheartening it must have been for her to not have a window in her last, padded room, to be kept caged and separated like some unseemly beast.

But this meant progress, Zuko reminded himself, rebutting the now-usual surge of indigence. He swept to the side of the bed and sat, aligning the simple silk robes. 

“That sounds like an interesting strategy” He commented, keeping his tone noncommittal, examining her. She seemed anxious about this, certainly, a rather pained expression across her face, much as she tried to dismiss it. But still, this meant she’d been improving, too.

And he’d have liked to tell her it didn’t matter; that she’d hurt him remarkably less than she seemed to think she had, but that wouldn’t be true. All he hoped was that his sister would never have the chance to know how frequently she still featured in his nightmares. 

“Did you have something in mind?” Zuko accompanied the inquiry with a political smile.

She had spent a whole week creating a list, writing every time she’d hurt her brother down, separating them into normal sibling squabbles, and actual murdering attempts. She had worked for over a week with her therapist about what she was ashamed of, and what she should just let go, and how to work on her fear over Zuko’s reactions, and anxiety as she did so.

-

“I don’t- _know_.” Azula averted her eyes, but there was nothing else to focus them on; the immaculate white walls provided no escape from her thoughts, and a hand creeped under the sleeve of her equally white uniform, nails digging grooves on the flesh of her arm, because she was not expecting him to ask her about it.

She was expecting him to pick something, she was _hoping_ he did it. To have the liberty to choose was to let her be a coward, because there was no way she could talk to him about the chase, lightning, or even his first visit to the asylum. And then she realised he was likely letting her off the hook, and she dug deeper on her skin.

She did not deserve Zuko.

“Do you remember, one time when we were little… I had not yet learned to bend, but you had.” Azula looked back up at her brother, eyes brimming with tears already; not because it was a particularly hard one, but because he was once more being the bigger person, and it twisted bitterly on her stomach, to know that she was once again taking advantage of that.

“You were training with the master, grandfather was watching, and I was jealous.” A jolt of pain cursed through her arm, and she let go of it, watching blood under her nails with an accustomed grimace. Her breathing hitched, and she felt dizzy. “I distracted you, and made you miss a movement. Grandfather was disappointed, and he told father, you were punished, and I-”

She reached out to him, a deadly grip on his wrist. “I’m sorry.”

-

Zuko supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d bring up one of the more prevalent issues first; frankly, they had a wealth of material from which to choose on the matter of times she’d hurt him.

He was relieved to find she at least hadn’t selected one of the more recent times. The wound to his chest. The occurrence at the Air Temple, when she threatened celebration at his death. His attempted imprisonment at the Earth Kingdom bay. But this one he remembered quite well, too.

“Thank you,” Zuko forced. His brow pushed together, and he looked across the austere walls. To his recollection, that had been one of the first times he’d been hit for fouling up his forms.

It took a minute of deliberate breathing exercises to collect his scattered thoughts, and Zuko allowed himself the hiatus. He wondered if she knew the type of memory she’d tugged upon. 

But even so, she’d apologized. And this exercise was about her healing, not his own.

He had friends at the palace, waiting for him. It had been a good week, he reminded himself.

Zuko slid his fingers gently across hers, noting the smearing crimson as he worked her nails from his wrist, and pulled the cord for a nurse. This also hadn’t been the first time he’d wound up with her blood on his skin since they’d started this process.

He remained quiet while a nurse entered, sliding up the sleeves of her uniform to expose the leaking punctures on her arm to clean and bandage them. Zuko couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.

He took her hand as the door snapped closed once more. “I brought something for you.”

-

Everything after Zuko’s acknowledgment had been unimportant.

The words, once out of his lips, had settled in Azula’s head with a deafening buzz; their meaning, their intent, twisting and morphing with each repetition. He was upset, and angry, and then relieved, or heartbroken. Maybe he was disgusted, and tired, contented, or sad. Perhaps he was manipulating her. Perhaps, he was actually forgiving her.

Azula had barely noticed the nurse, she barely noticed her own breathing, after all; everything was Zuko’s _thank you_ , and his eyes set on her.

She had been ready for a fight, tears, and ugly words, and everything that made them who they were around each other. Azula had not been expecting him to be so calmed, and every past experience, told her she was being set up for something else. She flinched, albeit little, when he touched her.

“ _Oh._ ” Azula’s eyes went from her hand in his, to his robes, and his eyes, and she found herself unfazed by it. Those past experiences were not about Zuko, she reminded herself, and took a deep, steadying breath. “What is it?”

-

“It’s something I think you may like,” he answered, gladly sidelining the remainder of his rotten feelings in loo of the announcement.

“I got the idea from the visit, six months ago. Remember, when we sat by the pond, and you kept falling asleep on me?” His laugh was bitter. It had been a particularly relaxing day, until he’d returned, and realized it was due to the drugs they’d been pumping into her. The ones that suppressed her explosions, her bending. The ones she swore she hated, the ones he’d come to fear, after that day. She’d not been herself. “After I returned to the palace, I sent letters. To experts. To some of my- resources. I requested all the texts on chi pathways from that old library in the city.”

Zuko turned her hand over, sliding a finger from the palm upwards.

“Your chi paths are particularly defined in palms and wrists.” Up past her elbow, and to her shoulder. “Then beneath your collar bone, and to your spine. As Firebenders, as I’m sure you remember, we rely on our stomach and breath for most of our power. But the wrists are a primary point of contrition. Once I learned this, I had an idea. I started to design- hang on. I have them in here.”

He reached deep into the pocket of his tunic and pulled out the gleaming, metal cuffs, weighing them in his hands.

“They’re chi-blocking cuffs,” he explained, touching the cool steel. “They enforce pressure on the point in your wrists. Not enough to feel as though you were chi-blocked. Just barely, to stall the creation of flames.”

He caught her gaze, hesitant. “I know you hate the drugs, Azula. I thought maybe you might want to try something else.”

-

She remembered. She had fought with a nurse that morning, not wanting to get changed, or her hair brushed, she couldn’t care less Zuko was visiting, she just didn’t want it. She had grabbed at the woman’s wrist, and had managed to burn her. Nothing much, just a pink reminder of her fingers, but enough to get several extra pills down her throat. They couldn’t afford she burned the Fire Lord, _again_.

Azula wanted to tell Zuko off, swat his hand away, and tell him of course she knew about chi paths, and that breath was the source of their element, who did he think he was talking to? And yet, he was so incredibly touchy that day, and she could feel the way his heat ignited the dead one inside of her, and it felt amazing. And for just a moment, right before he pulled away, she could feel a tug at her core. _Fire._

She stared at the cuffs, reaching out to touch them, running a digit over the metal, thinking about his last words. She did hate the drugs, they didn’t just act on her bending, they muted all of her body, and it was with a lot of effort that she even got up in the mornings.

“ _You_ thought of this?” She whispered, taking one between her fingers, inspecting it, she only found a small lock, over the otherwise smooth, flawless metal. She thought of his word choice, resources he’d said. He’d meant the blind girl then, and probably the Avatar too. He’d talked to his friends about her.

And there it was again, clenching at her stomach, fire. But this time it was her own. Her breath hitched, and she looked up at him, biting down on her trembling lip, because she was so tired of being weak, and indebted to him, but she couldn’t refuse this.

“Will you put them on?”

-

He assessed her own examination of the metal, amazed. He’d expected a worse reaction; resignation, or rage, that he’d think her so incapable of the current concoction of sedatives and chi blocking that was restricting her fire. Her curiosity piqued his interest. Perhaps she was improving, after all.

“I had the idea to seek a better solution,” he afforded, allowing a smile to strain his cheeks. “I had- experts. To assist with everything else.”

He slid the metal across her wrists and snapped the first in place, gently, tightening it in the way Sokka had shown him.

“The institute has performed rigorous testing to approve of their use.” Zuko turned her hand over in his to evaluate the fit. “Before that, I tried them myself. They’re uncomfortable, but they’ll keep you awake.”

Zuko lifted his gaze back to her, wishing, for what must have been the hundredth time, he could read her poised expressions.

“The director has promised me you’ll be weaned from the drugs after my visit.” Zuko slid his finger along the blunt edge of the cuff. “And they can be removed at any time. Okay? All you have to do is ask a nurse.”

He was babbling, nervously. Giving assurance after unneeded assurance as though she were a child. Zuko clenched his teeth together, chastising himself.

“Do you like them?” He asked. “Do you at least not hate them as much?”

-

Maybe it was the drugs, that were still in her system, blocking her from most human emotion, but she couldn’t feel a thing.

Azula blinked repeatedly, and stared at her wrists, flexing them, moving her fingers. Nothing at all. Not fire, but no pain either, not even discomfort, like Zuko had mentioned. He’d tried them on himself, and she didn’t know how to feel about that.

Sick, that was it. She felt sick, and hoped that by the time the sedatives were out of her body, she could get some sort of reaction to this; anger, pain, shame.

She shouldn’t be granted so much relief from her punishments.

“I don’t hate them.” Azula answered, eyes still inspecting the cuffs. So new and shiny, and all for her. She wondered how many people would be put into this, after she proved they worked. A part of her was glad, no one should be drugged out of their brain.

“So, what happens if I try-” She breathed in, imagining the energy that wasn’t there, flowing to her core, and with the exhalation that would usually bring fire, came a spasm to her stomach, and she gasped.

 _Interesting._ It was probably going to be worse once the drugs died down. She held back the smile that threatened to crawl to her lips, Zuko needn’t see that.

“Zuko, what do your friends tell you? About me.” Azula locked eyes with him, in search of what, she was unsure. She didn’t know what would be worse really, to know they didn’t agree to her brother’s idea of getting her better and out of here, or to know they did. “What do people tell you, when you come here?”

-

Almost politically, Zuko was reminded of the ways in which he could have dismissed her question. A simple lie, a clever but truthful workaround, to obscure the evident pity on his friends’ faces that morning as he’d departed for the Institute, and in their words over letters when they saw fit to ask after Azula. Or how the topic of Zuko’s sister, always Zuko’s sister, never the Princess, or Agni forbid they call her by her given name, was brought up in hushed tones, as though they were clustered around a sickbed. And perhaps they all were, in some metaphorical sense.

But she was getting better.

He matched her steady gaze, the golden irises he knew to be almost twins to his own, and wished something he did could penetrate the intentional facade she wore like armor. Here, she needn’t be a Princess, needn’t give any consideration to politics, familial or otherwise. Here, she could be his sister. Together, they could learn just what that meant.

“They support me,” was the short answer, and it was true enough for him to not feel guilt after he’d said it. Aang and Katara, along with Zuko’s uncle, had been ruthlessly supportive throughout the entire process, committing time and energy to even bring up the subject of Azula in the first place. Of course, Sokka pulled a grimace at the topic as a whole, and Mai and Toph may have developed the habit of dissociating when Zuko needed to talk about it, but he was supported by his friends, regardless of how stupid of a decision they seemed to think he was making.

He took her hand again, vaguely aware that the move was replicated from his uncle. How proud the General would be.

“My friends know, better than most, the importance of family, and forgiveness.” He gave her chilly fingers a squeeze. “They understand you were- are- a victim. And they want you to recover, too, Azula. We all do.”

-

“Of course they do.” Azula narrowed her eyes on him. She might’ve been broken, but she was not stupid, by any means, and his brother answer was- lacking.

For a moment Azula considered her options; she could let it go, give him the respite that she was not looking for a fight, not today at least, not over something that shouldn’t bother her like _his_ friends. Or she could demand for some truth, honesty over her case, she did deserve that, right? To know what people thought of her, as she was prevented from finding out herself?

She’ll meet herself in the middle.

“I’m sure the mighty Avatar, and his lovely girlfriend are just dying to hold your hand, after every visit. They are all about love after all, aren’t they?” Her voice was dripping sarcasm, and disgust, and _jealousy._

Because that was the actual problem, wasn’t it? That he had friends whereas she had been left alone by hers. Granted, she had left them to rot in a prison before, but still, four years in here, and not even a note from either of them. And then came Zuko, with all and his stupid smile, and made her feel better, and gave her gifts, and had the nerve of talking to his friends about her.

And had the nerve to have friends who cared about him, and likely smiled at him and rubbed at his back, when he went back to the palace with tales of how his very own sister had tried to hit him once more.

She exhaled, and got her core tugged on once more. _Fuck._ Azula blinked back into focus; her breathing was ragged, and she felt out of it, angry. The cuffs had helped though. It was likely not something neither Zuko nor his friends had thought about, but it had pulled her out of her trance.

“You don’t have to answer to that. I’m sorry.” It scared her that she was being honest; that she had been able to catch herself after a simple comment, and was able to apologise about it so freely. She’d have to tell her therapist about this, he’d be ecstatic. “You’ve been nothing but nice since you got here, and I was out of place.

“Tell me about the palace?” She smiled up at him.

-

Zuko couldn’t help it but to flinch at the way she spoke of his friends, the hate that saturated her tone, even the way she deigned to call Katara the Avatar’s girlfriend- they were so much more, the two of them, than her assessment. It reminded him of his father, of the weaponized child she’d been those years prior. Hell, it reminded Zuko of the monster he’d once allowed himself to become.

He’d have liked to tell her otherwise. That Aang was indeed sunshine and light but also the deep, restless spirit of much needed growth and development and a literal century of hardship and grief. And that Katara- Agni, how even to describe Katara? She was a warrior beyond all else. Azula, of all people, should remember that.

He grimaced, shifting his weight to the edge of her mattress, feeling the creak of the boxspring while he worked to dismiss that anger. His sister had a right to still be angry. She wasn’t all better. Perhaps she’d never be.

But she’d still be his sister, and alive, and that counted for something. It counted for a lot.

“The palace-” Zuko trailed off. This week, it was full, and chaotic, with the more-than-singular Earthbending catastrophe, and laughter. Happy, busy, lively noise. But his guests were far less frequent visitors than she seemed to think.

“It’s quiet,” he told her truthfully, inconspicuous fingers curling in her bedsheets, so as not to alarm her. He’d heard her reaction, the reaction to whatever had happened in her mind that she still felt so uncomfortable to disclose.

In reality, Zuko walked the palace hallways until his feet were raw, and bent so fiercely his fingertips were too sore and burned to move for days after. In the dark, he carried a flame with him, always, and could still barely stand the lights to be off. He dreamed of walking into the throne room to once again be confronted by his father. He dreamed of little closet doors appearing in the hallways. Zuko dreamed of finding his mother’s body in each of them.

He suppressed a shudder.

“It’s lonely.” His voice had softened, and shook, and he centered his gaze on the corner to her austere wall. “It’s quiet, and it’s so _lonely._ And I miss you.”

Without looking, he searched for her fingers across the bed, catching them and holding them tight.

“I don’t care what anybody else says,” he affirmed, selfishly. “I don’t care. I just want you to be better. I want you to be home with me.”

-

She tried to keep it in, the sob, the tears, the words that piled up in her mouth and form no coherent sound aside from his name. It was fitting, too, that those four letters were the only clear thing amidst her otherwise messed up demeanour; that was exactly what it looked like inside of her head, every day.

Her fingers gripped his so strongly, she knew she was not going to forget the feeling for weeks, until his next visit, and suddenly she needed to remember all of him, until next time.

Because Zuko was a ray of light in Azula’s otherwise dark life, and every time he visited, every caress of his, illuminated yet another corner of the dark corridors in her convoluted mind. Some places were harder to shed light on, and others went back to darkness almost instantly when he left, but others were bright and warm, ever after he came to her.

Her free hand reached out to the lapel of his robe, and she pulled him towards her, probably more forcefully than appropriate, but she could only think of his last words, and how they didn’t make any sense, and how they had made everything inside of her shatter into a million pieces.

“Why? Zuko, why would you _want that_?” Azula cried the words to his chest, a hand still clutching to his with her life, and the other one digging nails to his back, keeping him to her.

Home, he’d said, not for the first time, but it felt so much better each time, and the idea of home with him. Not just allowed out of here, but _wanted_ there, it just didn’t make sense, but she’ll take it too, out of selfishness. She wanted that, she wanted him.

“Why would you want me there?”

-

The Fire Lord was no longer shocked by her tears. he’d grown used to them visits ago. They were good, his uncle had told him. They were healthy. Zuko didn’t cry much himself, but he’d had little hesitation agreeing.

What did surprise him was the way she gripped his arm, grabbed the front of his tunic, and demanded his proximity. Usually, her tears harmonized a retreat away from him and into herself or her own head, not a plea for closeness. Maybe this was progress too.

“Because-” you’re family? Because it was _done_? Zuko couldn’t reasonably pull off either of those lies, not to her. He took a minute, covered her insistent fingers with his and pulled her closer, into him.

“Because they don’t understand,” he breathed finally, screwing shut his eyes, burning at his own realization. It was true that he found pieces of himself in each of his friends, his profound griefs mirrored in Katara, many of his doubts and inadequacies in Mai, his bold hopes reflected back from the steely gray of Aang’s eyes, and the reminder that his sporadic rage and selfishness was normal through Toph and Sokka. But they only knew parts of him, the parts he’d told or insinuated to, and hadn’t experienced the rest of it. Not as she had.

“They weren’t _there_ ,” he told his sister, lips pressed against the crown of her head as though it might offset the rough clench of his jaw. “They weren’t there, and they don’t understand, they don’t remember what it was like when _he_ was in the palace, how _he_ changes you, you’re the only one, you understand, you understand so much of me, and I _need_ you, okay? I- I _love_ you, Azula. And I’m not giving up until you’re _home_.”

-

Love. _He_ loved _her_. Azula’s hands loosened on her grip, and she stilled between his arms, only staying there because he was holding her like he wanted her. Like he wanted her home. Like he actually loved her. But, why would he?

He had no reason to do so, no right to tell her so. How was she supposed to go on like this? What was she to do with this information, other than cry herself to sleep every night from now one, until she managed to find in herself something worthy of his love? And she doubted that was going to happen. She really doubted it.

“Zuko, I-” How did one answer to that? Did she have to? She had to say something. Do something. Had Azula heard those words before, though? From him, from anyone? She couldn’t remember she had.

“I need you too.” She said to his chest. Coward.

“I’m sorry, I, I can’t- I’ll work harder, okay?” She was unsure what she was promising, although she very much knew what she couldn’t. She couldn’t say it back, she couldn’t even internalize his words, she couldn’t really go on after this. His visits, the cuffs, his words.

“Zuko, do you remember, once I was maybe five, and it was raining so much.” Azula looked up at him, taking her best shot at being a good sister, the only way she could. “It had been raining for so long, and I was hiding outside because-” Her voice faltered for a moment, and she decided to skip the reasons, if he remembered, he would remember it all. “And you found me, and we stole some food from the kitchens, and made that bonfire in the tunnels under the palace?

“That was a nice day. Thank you.”

.-

Zuko supposed he should be relieved. Relieved she’d not seen fit to shriek at him, or run, or Agni forbid revert back inside her own impenetrable armor like she’d been during their meetings. For an achingly long minute, he feared she might, needed her to respond so badly his fingers almost caught from the unease alone. What had he been thinking, telling her something like that?

Then, a thought that chilled him to the bone: had it even been true?

Of course it had, of course, he ached for her company when he was away from here, he spent days obsessing after her care. The experts he’d consulted that last month weren’t for her wrists alone, he was traveling across the world to find remedies, to meet with doctors and psychiatrists, and their answers that it was time he needed to give her, always more time, was enough to drive him mad.

He relaxed when she finally gave her answer. He hadn’t been expecting to hear it back. Not yet, or not ever- that was how their family worked, after all.

“Of course I remember that.” Zuko held her tighter, and stepped from his slippers, settling his feet upon the bed. “We ate cake until we thought we’d burst, and then mixed it with mud when we realized someone might notice its absence.”

It surprised the Fire Lord how fondly he recalled that event.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a slow recovery, as predicted, but it moved faster after the cuffs. Azula’s color returned at Zuko’s next visits. Then, her wits, little by little. Zuko brought books from the Palace- painstakingly evaluated and approved by the staff- and foods she’d liked before. But still, the way he ached when he had to leave did not vanish. Rather, it amplified the more he discovered of his sister, and left him bitter and contemplative for days longer. In contrast, news of her developments left his chest so full of pride he could hardly find words. Those came more and more frequently, over the following year.

“Do you trust me, Azula?” He posed the question to her just over a year later, a wet spring morning, in a rather different setting than they were used to. A flat slab of smooth stone had been erected to the Institute’s rear, and the foliage cleared away. His fingers trailed the metal cuffs around her wrists, gently, and he held her gaze with his own. They were dressed similarly, in simple linens, and quite alone- as per Zuko’s orders, nobody was to disturb the two of them. Not when she was going to have the cuffs removed. Not when they were about to bend.

The Director had suggested an impartial instructor; Zuko’s glare had been enough to change his mind. He had trained the Avatar. He knew Azula, perhaps as well as anybody could now. And besides, if she went wild, if she hurt him- well, it wouldn’t be the first time. Better Zuko receive another burn than someone else. His flesh was already coated in marks left by his family. One more would make no difference.

“Answer me, Azula,” he commanded quietly. “Do you trust me?”

-

For the longest time, in the past months, Azula wondered if the people who treated her thought she was stupid. That her being here limited her senses to the point of oblivion. Maybe it had been that way, when she’d been first brought here, unable to separate dream from reality, nightmares from people, her thoughts from other voices. When she was drugged, and scared, and alone.

Yet, since Zuko had come, and she’d started to be an active member of therapy sessions, she’d been better. So why did they thought she was not going to put the three dots together, and figure out that the training area was for her, she did not understand.

The silence around the whole thing, that she first thought was because of the other inmates, was stupidly loud. She’d seen the earthbenders work on it, from a spot on the garden, where she liked to sit under a tree; how the landscape of the far end of the asylum was morphed, trees moved, grass gone. She’d watched the whole thing in sick fascination. She was going to bend again, and that made her blood freeze.

No, it hadn’t been because of the rest, it was still all about her, and the fear people had still.

She’d been told the day prior to Zuko’s arrival, and it had been almost comical how the Director had been ‘so-not-discreetly’ protected from her. He’d approached her in the dining room, on the corner where she ate alone, when forced to go out of her room, and the guards had moved so unnaturally, pretending nonchalance, that she almost laughs out loud.

She probably did, because he flinched, and she would’ve liked to feel bad about it, but she couldn’t pretend to care for the man. So she was going to bend, the next day, with her brother. Her brother had asked. Her brother had not wanted another instructor. Her brother worried about her, and wanted to see her better. Her brother-

Agni,  _yes_ , she knew perfectly well how much of a saint her brother was in the eyes of this pathetic excuse of a man. Azula had wondered exactly how much money he was getting for having her here. How much it would affect his job if she were to have an accident on the field. What would happen if the Fire Lord got hurt under his ‘supervision’.

But all those thoughts turned against her the very next day, and she was almost grateful that she hadn’t had more time to work herself into a bigger hole in her mind. Her eyes shot up at Zuko’s.

“I do.” Azula answered his request. It was herself that she did not trust; or her fire, or the fact that the last time they’d done this she’d lost herself, and it was taking so long, to reconstruct at least a semblance of who she’d been.

What if she had an accident? What if she harmed him? What if she liked it again?

Her throat closed, and she shuddered out a breath. “I trust you, Zuko.”

-

“Good.” Zuko raised a hand upwards to her cheek, pushing a rough thumb along her cheek, then again, intrigued at the contrast between his flame-calloused fingers and her own impossibly soft skin. Soon she too would regain the burns and wear across her fingers and arms from their shared element. He wondered if she missed them.

Then, “I know you do.”

He bent his head, and took up her wrists, fitting the slender silver key into the first lock and opening it with a click.

“When I tell you to stop bending, cease your fire,” he told her gently, wondering if the softness would mask how much he had anticipated this. Last evening, he’d hardly slept, awakening far too early with a strange ache in the old, familiar scar across his sternum. The thought that he’d feel her fire again unnerved him. He feared it. He hated that he did. “If you cannot, direct it to the east, away from the Institute. And the moment you’re finished, I’ll put the cuffs back on.”

Her first cuff fell away to his hand, and Zuko pocketed it, quickly, not bearing to notice the deep bruises that gathered beneath them. Soon, the second one joined it.

“How does it feel?” Zuko asked his sister, looking up into her eyes. “Is this okay?”

-

Azula nodded, not trusting her voice enough to answer, and not trusting her thoughts not to spill. Her brother was not entirely sure about this either, she could tell, and amongst her every other fear, she hoped she could avoid him further worry on this. 

She kept her eyes downcast, fixed on the cuffs, on her purple wrists, on anything that wasn’t Zuko. When he removed the first cuff, she could feel her chi starting to flow, it was meagre, but it was there, but when the second one clicked open, and she didn’t feel much of a change, her eyes darted up at him in confusion.

“I don’t- Zuko, this doesn’t- something’s not right with it.” She searched his face for answers, practically begging he had some, and then looked back down at her hands, a grimace set on her features. 

“It’s not right. I shouldn’t be doing this. Maybe we can do it some other time, please? I just, this shouldn’t feel like this.” She whispered, talking more to herself than to him, and taking a couple of steps back, just in case. “This isn’t right, why am I not feeling like before? It’s so weak, and unstable. It feels so wrong. It just feels so wrong.”

Her breathing was uneven too, and she tried to focus on that, maybe it was just the anxiety, perhaps if she calmed down and breathed, it would all fix itself. She counted, to keep control of her breathing; four seconds in, hold it two, four seconds out, and repeat. Once, twice, she lost count at some point, but tried to keep it going nonetheless.

“Okay, and what now?” She looked back at Zuko, knowing the answer already, terrified of it.

-

He caught her golden gaze and held it steady.

“You haven’t bent in years,” Zuko told her firmly. “Of course it’s going to feel different. Give your body a chance to recover. To readjust. And  _trust_  me, Azula. Like you promised you would.”

The last was gentler than the rest. Seeing her like this, so afraid of her own bending- it transported him back to the dim, rocking room of a little vessel out at sea many years prior, with a stinking, open wound across his face, his uncle’s soothing words, and a distinct, comforting rubbing on his back while the waves wrecked havoc on his insides.

It had worked with him. He’d been able to bend again, picked it up just months later. But Azula didn’t need any more coddling than she was already exposed to. She didn’t deserve that brand of dehumanization.

Rather, Zuko gripped her wrist tight and pulled it towards him, settling into a crouched, alert position. He pulled a flame to his fingertips, watching the way it licked across his flesh, steadying it.

“Fire is life,” he told her gently as he passed it over to her palm. “Not destruction.”

-

His fire was life, she scoffed in her mind, the frown on her brows unwilling to leave, hers had always been anything but. Still, she reminded herself she trusted him, the count in her head going on still. Four seconds breathe in, two hold it, four exhale. The previous fear slowly ebbing, she wanted to believe in his words, and managed not to flinch when he took her wrist between his fingers.

He was so warm, it was shocking. Azula’s eyes fluttered shut on their own, and she focused on his heat, tried to take in as much of it as she could. Because it was so good. 

It was the first ray of sun that woke her up in the mornings, and a bonfire under the stars on a cold night, it was a hot meal at home, wherever that was anymore. She shuddered. He was the flare she needed, for her own fire was nothing but embers anymore. It crawled up her arms and settled high in her chest, right behind her ribcage, his patience, his love; and then down in her stomach, a wild conflagration, his anger, his fear.

And then it was on her hand, and she knew it wrong instantly, and a part of her was even glad that she could identify flaws on her bending anymore. But whatever respite her knowledge had given her, was fleeting, and upon opening her eyes, there was nothing but horror left.

“ _No._ ” The word was a faint gasp, and Azula’s vision spotted, corners darkening, and head swaying with panic; she could feel tears prickling at her eyes, and her chest heaving, fingers trembling uncontrollably in Zuko’s grasp. 

“ **No!** ” She wrenched her hand from her brother’s, moving back, staring nonplussed at the flame hovering in her palm. She fisted her fingers, burying nails to her skin until she felt a jolt of pain cursing through her arm, because that was wrong, it could not be. She had to calm down, breathe and calm down. And then she opened it again, and called on her own fire; like she knew, like she’d done for years, the way she’d been missing it.

A strangled cry tore from her throat, and she crumbled to her knees to the granite under her, the flame still dancing on her hand. 

Teasing her. 

Orange.

-

He’d suspected it might be.

She hadn’t been born with the elite capacity to bend blue fire, after all, although she’d possessed the skill to wield it for so long it almost looked strange to see anything different. Though he’d predicted as much; Iroh had told him to expect as much. But Zuko had kept the particular suspicion from Azula. She’d never have bent otherwise. And he’d needed her to bend.

His stomach twisted at her dramatics; there was little empathy where he was concerned. How many times had Zuko tried to wield the hotter flame and failed? How many times had he tried and failed to bend lightning?

 _Born lucky_. He looked down at her for another moment, crying and writhing and unsure and pitiful upon the ground. They’d been born to his father and mother; neither of them had been lucky.

He knelt. He wrenched her fingers off her wrist. He swatted away the orange fire and pulled his sister tight against his chest.

“Look at you,” he whispered, squeezing. “Look at you, Azula, you bent, you  _bent_  it. I knew you could. I am so proud of you.”

-

There was barely a second between Zuko’s hand in hers, and his warmth engulfing Azula in a hug, whispering encouraging words to her hair. Air left her lungs in a gasp, and she clutched onto the fabric of his tunic, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

The sound of his praise filling her, awoke a memory in her mind; of arms picking her up, and a string of compliments aimed her way. Zuko was there too, and her mother, they were watching on the side, clapping. For a moment, the tears threatened to become ones of joy, between her brother’s arms. She’d done it, after all.

But her mind was such a fickle thing now, and just as abruptly as the satisfaction came, they tore at her chest, and left her fingers numb, hands strained from the desperate grip on the light linen. And then it caught.

Azula smelled it before she felt it, not dissimilar to burning leafs, filling her nostrils and pulling her out from her memory. She pushed Zuko away, to find his tunic ashing between her fingers, and she panicked.

“Oh, Agni, Zuko! I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know what happened.” She let go of him, patting the charred fabric off, a confused frown on her brows. She stared at her hands, more disoriented than before, control had always been something she’d excelled at. “Are you alright?”

-

“I’m fine. I’m  _fine_.” Zuko laughed. “Would you believe I’ve set myself on fire enough to get used to it?”

He wiped away the last embers of his ruined tunic and took it off in its entirety, tossing it to their side. He hadn’t brought anything else down from her wing, where they’d both changed into training gear- stupidly, of course, considering the very likely chance he’d be in direct contact with fire that day. He’d simply have to return like this.

He leaned back from her, hands on his knees, weight set back onto his ankles.

“Try again, Azula. But this time, I want you to make the fire yourself.”

-

She tried to laugh with him, she would’ve loved to do that. Sometimes at night, Azula dreamed of Zuko smiling at her; a genuine, happy smile, one that spoke of how he loved her. Those dreams were worse than nightmares, and she woke up crying. Did so for hours afterwards, until she was spent, and fell asleep once more, or until she was sedated back to calm.

But oh was she naive to believe those days would ever come. “ _Zuko._ ” His name left her lips in a gasp, eyes opening in horror as she took in his chest. The irregular scar that sat right in the middle of it. Her own doing, her lightning. Whatever semblance of calm she’d poorly managed to maintain up until this moment, was shattered.

“No. Agni, no.” What had she done? She pressed the heel of her hands to her eyes until she saw white, fingers pulling at her hair in desperation. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Mother was right. I’m a monster. I’m-

“Leave Zuko, you have to leave. How can you even stand to see me? Why are you helping me? Look at- I’m just like him.” A sob tore at her throat, stomach heaving with disgust. Her eyes fixed morbidly on his scar once more, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hands fisted on her lap, shaking.

She knew it already, she knew she was nothing but a monster. Still, a part of her had held hope. A part of Azula had wanted to believe she could still be normal, go back home in a future, have Zuko really forgive her- But how could she now? How could  _he_? 

“Please leave Zuko, I’m going to hurt you again.” Her breathing was out of control, and her core was tugging desperate, flames begging just as her. She dug nails deep on her palms, trying to contain them, but it was proving hard. With the cuffs for so long, and the drugs before that, to be free now; it was so hard to do something that had once been so easy for her. 

“Please.” Azula whispered, doubling over in pain, prostrating in a plea in front of her brother, her hands aflame, her own tunic catching too. “I don’t want to hurt you Zuko, please.”

-

Zuko stumbled back, across the training field and away from her, the brief joy dissipating with the air in his lungs. Shaking hands wrenched the remnants of his tunic closed across his chest. Of course he had her scar there, the dark starburst shape from her own lightning at their Agni Kai.

He was an idiot, he thought, watching as the carefully stacked pieces of his sister’s composition slipped and cracked, helpless as she deteriorated in front of his eyes. He was a  _fool_.

The instinct to reach out for her was gone.

His fingers reached inside his tunic and prodded at the wound, touching at the hardened flesh of the mark. Much as he’d touched at the scar slashing across his face for years after his father had given it to him; in a desperate hope that it might fade. That it might have never been there at all.

“You’re wrong, Azula.” He raised himself to his knees, examining the distance between them— suddenly unsure if he wanted to diminish it, or amplify it further, call one of the Waterbending nurses to douse her and leave her there, soaking and sobbing, and escape while he still could, retreat to the lonely, empty halls of his palace where he might pretend this had never happened at all that he hadn’t just ruptured her beyond repair. “Our mother didn’t know what she was talking about. Look at the facts, Azula, look at the way she  _abandoned_  us, look at the way she hasn’t even attempted to seek reconciliation, tried to help us since—”

His fingers prodded the wound at his sternum violently; pain akin to Azula’s own lightning rocketed to his extremities. Tears gathered in his good eye, sliding down the cheek.

“You look at our mother, Azula, you look at her, and what she resigned us to, and you tell me who the real monster was. You  _tell_  me she wasn’t worse than you, that she wasn’t worse than even  _him_  for what she did.”

He slid himself across the flat stone towards her. It was undignified, pathetic; he couldn’t even hope for privacy. Hot tears dripped onto his hands and slid down his neck. He didn’t bother wiping them away.

“He did this.” Zuko wrenched her hand up to his face, waving the flames away. “And he did this, too.” Towards his chest, onto the scarred flesh, beneath which his heart pounded and his chest heaved as though he’d run for miles. “And there’s only one way you can hurt me, Azula, and that’s if you don’t get better, and you don’t come home, I need you home, Agni, I  _need_  you, please don’t do this to me, I won’t be able to handle it if you do.”

-

“You can’t keep doing this Zuko!” The tears streamed non-stop down her cheeks, and she shook in his grasp. The feeling of his burned skin under her fingers had her stomach twisting fiercely. “You can’t keep being nice to me, what- what will it take you to see I’m not good? That I’m broken, and  _you can’t fix me?_ ”

He said it’d been  _him_ , and it did feel just the same, both scars, but she knew better. It had been her. She could’ve stopped, she  _should’ve_  stopped. Because had it not been Zuko, then it would’ve been the waterbender, and she would’ve been dead. The thought made her gag, and double more into herself if that was possible.

But she wanted to believe him. She so desperately wanted to believe him. The way his eyes swarmed with honesty when he talked about home, about needing her- Agni, if she didn’t want to be needed. For him to do so, and with enough strength to keep her steady, her fire in check, and demons away. 

Could he really do so- want her even when she was broken? Could she let him do it?  _Please don’t do this to me._ He did, and she would probably never understand it, but she couldn’t leave him alone. She didn’t want to be alone herself. Her jaw trembled with the notion that she’d give in, and selfishly accept his caring for her once more.

“I want to go home, I do. I’m sorry.” She reached for him, messy hands suddenly loose from his grip, and she found his shoulders. She grabbed onto him for dear life, the only good thing in hers, and he kept coming. Even with everything she was, and all that she wasn’t. “I’m sorry brother, I won’t leave you, forgive me. I won’t leave you.”

Azula scrambled towards Zuko, pushing him down to the stone floor, curling to his side. Whatever remnants of energy she had, left when his arms closed around her, and she sobbed to his shoulder, clinging to him, lest he was taken away from her. Or her from him. But no guards came, and he didn’t let go, and she was too tired to fight herself anymore.

The last she remembered before sleep claimed her, in the form of a needle to her neck, was the smell of charred linen. A dull pain in her chest, irregular skin under her fingers, and Zuko’s warmth. Steady, loving,  _there._


End file.
